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diejager · 6 months

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Ok but like what about Wendigo reader? Maybe the team knows she's not exactly human but maybe in her file it just marked n/a and leaves it at that so they just assume that their sweet little medic is just a helpful spirit of some kind. Humans tend to give her a very wide birth since they seem to notice her as something they should leave the fuck alone, the boys just assume it's because of them always being near her and leave it at that. Till they're all on a mission and it all goes to shit, they're pinned down and then one of them ends up taking a bullet and reader just straight up fuckin losses it and next thing they know their is a 10 ft tall fuckin deer monster shredding bitches like their made of PAPER MACHE and EATING THEM, once the dust settles it moves towards them and slowly it shifts into their sweet medic but she is covered in blood and she just casually starts treating their wounds and the team is just like "Well mark me down as scared and horny" (if this makes no sense feel free to ignore)

Stag

Pairing: Monster 141 + Horangi & König x Wendigo!reader

Cw: cannibalism, human eating, greed, blood, canon-typical violence, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 2k (A/N): I felt a bit burnt out so I’m sorry if it’s bad, I reread it just in case, but it still feels bad.

They say that human greed is the source of evil, the all-consuming hunger for more —more than they need. Hunger drives humans to do the unspeakable, to break the line humanity had drawn and commit the taboo. Despite it being carved so deeply into the human psyche, passed down from generation to generation and the propaganda of humanism and equality, it doesn’t take much to make someone tip over, cross the edge nobody dared to and perform the unspeakable. Possession causes needs and needs cause greed.

That’s why people called to him for help, to carry out a clandestine mission to do their dirty work, his duty was to stop whatever men in power started, whatever men in power lost control —he was the one sent when they were scared. Fear was as coercive as power was. That was the reason Task Force 141 was first founded, to stop dangerous men like Hassan (Gaz remembered hearing from Soap that Ghost shot Hassan through the head, straight through him before he slumped down.) and Makarov, a man they were still searching for while signing a liaison contract with KorTac. Price, with Laswell’s help, managed to put the best of the best together: a wraith, a werewolf, a dragon, a harpy, a nagual and a cadejos vessel, all decorated with various medals for their work, and then there was you.

You were a mystery, even to Price who usually had clearance for anyone who joined them. Gaz knew, from a single glance, that you were far from human, you were a monster like Ghost was, turned after an occasion, or a hybrid like him. Surprisingly, Ghost seemed to welcome you warmly, albeit standoffish, having worked with you in the past, seeing that you both preferred working alone. Gaz wanted to show you the same heartwarming welcome as Ghost had, but there was something about you, an uneasiness he felt when he was around you. The others felt it as well, the innate need to keep their distance from you and the instinctual fear that had the hairs on their arms raised. Gaz could feel your eyes whenever you stared at him, like the eyes of a predator stalking its prey —it made him feel perturbed.

You seemed so human, yet so inhuman-like, your dull, thousand-yard stare, your inability to feel temperature (either cold or warm, you always wore the same clothes), your odd habits and your unusual calmness in every situation. Gaz had caught you staring at a private for much longer than what people considered normal, eyes glazed over and dilated as if you were seeing something else, daydreaming while being aware of your surroundings. Those were your moments, you were usually bubbly, always smiling at him whenever his eyes met yours or treating him with gentleness and always eager to help him. You had a softness to your being despite the eerie feel to you and your unique tendencies, you didn’t discriminate, nor did you show an ounce of hate towards hybrids and humans, treating everyone fairly.

Although you tried to fit in as best as you could, there were things that Gaz and the others just couldn’t shake off without questioning things. There was the lingering scent of blood on you, a metallic tang that stuck on his tongue after you walked by. König and Soap had confessed that they had a feeling that blood was a part of your scent, unwashable and impossible to hide, it clung to you like a second skin. They chalked it up to you being the Task Force’s medic, having brought people back from the brink of death and stitching men back together, you were practically bathed in the smell of blood and death every day.

Another thought was that they never saw you in the Mess hall for food, perhaps a cup of tea or a hot mug of coffee to boost you through a long shift in the infirmary as the base’s main medic if you weren’t deployed with them. Gaz never saw you eat, not once had he seen you hold a plate or bowl with substance for yourself. You would bring either of them a plate, caring for them whenever they were under your watch, giving them soup or anything that they could easily digest.

Gaz, Soap, Rudy and Horangi would chatter about you, throwing speculations on your breed, to see what hybrid or monster fit all your characteristics. You couldn’t be a wraith, your hands weren’t painted with death, a dark miasma that clung to you. You weren’t a werewolf, Soap would know, wolves were able to smell and recognize each other, it was an instinctual aspect of him. You weren’t any shifting hybrid either, there would be signs, little cues if you were one, and your classification wouldn’t be classified, painted over with a red line.

All they could was wonder and amble around with curiosity dripping from their tongues. Gaz was sure that he’d find out soon enough, whether it was an accident or your choice.

This wasn’t what Gaz meant by eventually, he didn’t mean being set up by Konni, a trap planted for them in the small Belgium town. It was the best set to box them in, a broken and ransacked ghost town that people fled from, walls greyed and cracked, the paint peeling off street lights and rusted metal poles, lost, forgotten and open. There didn’t have any cover, even if they ran and hid behind the crumbling walls, Konni had them surrounded on every end, concealed behind concrete walls and using the shadows to hide from sight.

It was chaotic, Konni had pushed them into an open area of the town, the centrepiece of it with a dilapidated, Greek fountain, chipped on the sides and green with mould, Gaz would’ve admired the architecture and the beauty it must’ve been in the past when it was still being cared for. They were backed up in a corner, Gaz couldn’t even stretch his wings out with how tightly they were packed together, the uncomfortable pull of his trapezius and the strain in his limbs kept him grounded. The tension was thick, palpable, Gaz could taste it in the air as much as anyone could, their shoulders tense, fingers tapping the trigger of their rifles. All they could do was wait for Konni to act first, to see where they would appear from and work their way out of this open area from there.

He had his back towards you, he couldn’t see you but he could feel you shake. It might’ve been from the adrenaline pumping through your veins or the nerve of being lied to, of falling into a trap when Ghost had voiced his suspicions about the lack of clearer intel. They were paying for their amateurism. He felt you shudder, breath stuttering, near panting with exhaustion. Gaz wanted to turn to you, words soothing your nerves and twitchy appearance, he acted letting drown in your mind, whatever it was, he hated it. His finger twitched on the trigger, jolting at the sudden crack of bones, an ugly and painful sound that made him wince. It shocked everyone, even the ever so silent and stoic Ghost who had a hard time hearing these cracks coming from you.

Damn this mission; damn the trap; damn this situation, Gaz needed to look at you, to see why your bones were breaking and limbs rattling. Instinctively, his wings shifted to cover you, the ends widening to cover your sides to protect you from whatever pained you, yet you didn’t let out a single squeak, no moan of pain or the grunt of suffering, you were silent. A part of his mind nagged at him to move, he could fly and try to outrun Konni mercenaries to find a way out, but then he’d leave your back open. He cursed lowly, teeth sinking into his lower lip in frustration, he was-

A loud screech thundered through the air, and screams and squelches followed it. You were missing.

You were shaking just a second ago, body wracked with some unknown ailment and the next, you were missing, your sack, attire, rifle and helmet were scattered on the ground, with a bony creature tearing through Konni ranks. The hair on his neck rose, an uneasy feeling overtaking him as he watched the creature rip men in half, tines stabbing through their torso like a buck fighting another, head lowered and antlers pointed forward. He watched the tall and thin monster move around, its face was one of a deer’s skull, eaten clean of skin and flesh, any muscle or fibre gone with whatever transformation it took. A crown of antler adorned its head, tall and imposing, as pale as its skull, a coat of black fur was wrapped around the neck, draping down the back like a ridge of fur.

“Fuck,” Gaz hissed, his body moving along the chaos the being created and your disappearance, he aimed his rifle and shot at the Russians who ran out of their hiding, fearful of the monster’s sudden arrival behind their ranks. “Captain! Is that-?”

“Don’t know anymore!” Price seemed to be as lost as Gaz was, reining in his confusion to focus on taking Konni out. “Keep your head in the game, Gaz; ask questions later.”

Gaz knew Price was right, the town was brimming with Russian ultranationalists, hiding and waiting for their time to jump at them. The situation was still chaotic, but it was better than being without cover. Gaz followed Horangi behind a wall, watching his back while they worked through the humans.

Somehow, Konni either retreated or were all dead, swallowed down by the beast that stood before them. Now that Gaz was standing so close to it - to you, after a few minutes of talking back and forth, they concluded that this was you from the pants that hung from your slim hips - he could see that the deer skull was just a mask covering your face, black and unidentifiable with those bright, gleaming eyes that stared down at him. Despite your curved back, bent to look at them, you towered over everyone, even König seemed small beside you, limbs almost as long as you, fingers tipped with blood that you were still licking off, a long tongue wrapped around your digit to clean yourself from blood, muscle and guts.

You were casually cleaning yourself up like a cat washing, even in the aircraft, you were gorging on the body of a man you picked up, jaw opening to show them the dozen of teeth before you clamped down on the forearm, tearing into the muscle with famished intent. None of them could take their eyes off you, their sweet, smiley medic who sometimes had their moments, devouring a man without batting an eye, obliviously uncaring of their staring. Gaz wasn’t sure if he knew how he felt, a warmth building up in his chest, a heat that seared into the fibres of his beings like an infectious thing. All they did was watch you eat, no one speaking until you finished your meal.

“Mind tell us what happened, Hunter?”

You perked up, blinking at Price owlishly, tongue lolling out to lick up the stray drop of blood that stuck on your skull’s teeth. Your chest rumbled, a soft growl rolling off your body while you tilted your head, you acted so much like a feline, grooming, reacting and moving like a curious cat, dangerous, yet so appealing.

“Wendigo,” you rasped, voice breathy and weak, you spoke in broken English, unable to speak fluently after turning, “Curse, eat human.”

Your little mannerism, the small tilt of your head and your fumbling hands, seemingly embarrassed or ashamed after your show of ruthless hunger and savagery was… eye-opening. Something stewed inside him, your being creating a ripple in his heart, pulling at the hunger in the depth of his gut. He was torn by the fear of having you as the potential enemy and the arousal of seeing you break men in half, painting the ground in crimson and guts, and satiating your hunger - craving - with human and monster flesh.

Gaz was fucked, both in the head and the situation.

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watchwarden · 2 years

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harmonysanreads · 21 days

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sunday with a singer! darling, one who had escaped from him almost seven years ago, and disappeared off the face of the galaxy. imagine his reaction when he gets word of a famous belobogian band on the radio soon after it’s connections to the IPC were restored, comprised of a woman named serval landau, and a *very* familiar young woman, with an even more familiar voice.

- (…could i be ✨ anon?)

Curtain Call

yandere!sunday x reader

cw(s) : yandere, written before 2.2

wc : 2.6k

You have the power of democracy by your side ✨ anon and I have no choice but to adhere to public demand :] Even though you mentioned a female!reader, the direction of the narrative didn't necessitate that specification, so the reader is gender-neutral! But they have been called ‘babygirl’ once.

“How can the bird that is born for joy

Sit in a cage and sing?”

— William Blake

You've avoided all shades of white and blue since the dawn of this day.

Serval regarded your pertinacity with a voiceless breadth of intrigue, before yielding with little to no resistance. A smidgen of guilt had briefly permeated your consciousness upon the vague shadow of a pout on her face, you recalled her enthusiasm passed through plans of matching outfits on your debutante from days now labeled as the near past. She picked herself up quickly though, her free-spirited ideals would not be compromised by some mere color choice.

It was difficult to not admire her. Lamentably, it is much easier to cradle the preachings of an unrestrained life than to actually act upon them — and by doing so, shouldering the frigid reality that came with such a life. As a child of frozen terrains although, frigidity must be Serval's playground, you eventually conclude. That is hardly the case for you, but you'd rather swallow whole chunks of ice than pin the blame on yourself alone for that apparent incapability.

You aren't at fault for your paranoia in embracing freedom, but you are resolved enough to try breaking away from its clutches. But just as tattoos sink deep beneath skin, that anxiety stubbornly clings to your psyche and the memories of the past nurture and allow it to fester. Which is why, you must avoid any shades of white and blue, at least until the dawn of tomorrow graces Belobog. Be it a superstition with no rational ground or scientific explanation, you decide to believe firmly in your gut.

The walls of the makeshift back-room muffle the chorus of the crowd outside, but it is enough to comfort you that your long held wish did come true. The single light bulb hanging beyond the door of the room serves as the sole source of luminescence, although it is barely helpful, the light bounces off from your back and reflects a scarcely tangible silhouette in the mirror of the dressing table. Glitters of dust floating around are illuminated by that light, abandoned furniture peek beneath their veils from your peripheral — they exclaim what this room's previous purpose had been.

Neither the modest setting nor the small trinkets spread across the dressing table come close to what you had a taste of ; glimmering surfaces, brands of beauty products worth a man's life savings and silks of no contender would mock this shack, if they could. But your heart soaks in solace whenever that irritatingly bright light flickers and mellowed cheers of the crowd permeate the room's thin walls, not because you lack taste in life, but because you recognize the futility of vanity.

“You did amazing there, babygirl!”

Your vision stutters at the impact of firm touch, you feel arms rest atop your decolletage, a shadow cloaks your reflection in the mirror. The cool touch of metal upon your left shoulder and a distinct streak of blue masquerading among blond locks of hair draw out a breath of relief from your lungs. But a faint twist engulfs your gut the very next second, you recall asking for a moment of quietude vividly.

“I don't think my performance was as great as you say, Serval. And whatever I achieved, it wouldn't have been possible without you guys.” your fingers twiddle with your sleeves, your eyes find interest in an abandoned nail polish.

You peek up in time to meet the rockstar's stare through the mirror, with some wrestling with the light, her disapproval shines through to your eyes.

“Nonsense, you were the star of today's show. Give yourself some credit, would ya?” your cheek soaks in the pinch before your brain can decode her words, you muffle a whine in protest.

“Okay, okay! I'm sorry.” your hand quickly soothes over the tempered skin when her fingers retreat, that's the extent of ‘retaliation’ you offer Serval, having accustomed yourself to her spontaneity in the interim of your stay under her care.

“I saw you look... pretty unnerved after the performance, so I came to check.” you scratch your cheek, eyes darting upwards to find her face shielded by your hair. You cannot pinpoint why, but for a second it seemed like she struggled to find footing with her phrasing of words. You've never heard her falter, at least in speech, but the waves of conversation swallow that momentary observation just as quickly.

Instead of being candid, you take a different turn, “You know, I wasn't lying about being grateful to you all. To perform on a stage without any rules was a long held dream of mine,” you feel gooseflesh bloom across your arms as tip-toeing touch descends to your sides, something within tempts you to curl in on yourself but you force your breath to finish. “If it hadn't been for your help, I would never succeed in fulfilling it.”

Serval hums in understanding, the timbres of it traverses from your skull and extends to your nerves. Her arms rest snuggly around your waist and you swallow dryly. Serval always wrapped her arms around your shoulders whenever she felt the need to and the fact that it made your head nearly spiral with questions didn't require to be stated. Only now do you reckon the slumbering atmosphere, without the jeer and cheer of the audience, you felt Belobog's cold biting into the tips of your fingers. You told everyone to not disturb you — your mind echoes without clarification.

“Is it because of that husband of yours?”

Your shoulders tense and for a litany of reasons, most obscure enough to be dismissed as misnomers produced by your instincts, none but one potent enough to be addressed. “Well yes… I told you about a man, but I don't remember specifying that it was a ‘husband’ responsible for my situation.”

Your words materialize as half confused and half laden with caution, you'd told Serval a few things about your predicament — nothing groundbreakingly detailed, just enough to earn a portion of her empathy. It kills you to follow tactics that enticed you to your doom, but what is life, if not a series of trial and error? It's best to apply the teachings of a manipulator than to continue being manipulated for eternity. But of course, you'll admit, such carefully taken steps still don't lessen the likelihood of meeting a dead-end to zero. How unfortunate.

It's Serval's turn to tense, but it's so quick you're left questioning whether it really happened. “Ah, but there was a ring on your right ring finger when you first came here! And the ‘man’ in your stories didn't seem to be different persons. So, I took a guess…”

An awkward chuckle leaves the rockstar's lips and you blink. She's right, you were still wearing your wedding ring when you came here ; an amateur mistake, you should've left it at some abstruse corner of the Dewlight Pavilion. You glance up at your reflections on the mirror, Serval was now mimicking your previous antics, a painted nail against her cheek albeit, the opposing light veiled her expression from recognition. One of her arms was still around your waist, loosely this time.

“I didn't say anything offending, did I?” the mechanic mutters tentatively. You take a deep breath and exhale, vacillating between the multitude of scenarios conjured by your lingering paranoia. But if it's Serval, you give it more thought, there was no tangible reason as to why she of all people would bring this up with malicious intent — or at least, none that you could come up with. She was likely merely concerned for your well-being, a big sister's instincts perhaps.

“Not at all,” the three words are uttered with more difficulty than needed but the effort is proved worth it when she relaxes and returns to embrace you with gusto.

This time you can feel her touch vividly across the bare skin of your midriff, a reminder of your present dress up automatically causes blood to rush to your face. The matching crop-top with Serval was hardly the most revealing thing someone had worn in this universe, but it was the boldest you'd been with your attire. You think you saw her gaze tilting at the sight but the only way to affirm it would make things further awkward. As you melt upon recalling that you'd sung your lungs out with this on in front of a crowd, the rockstar chimes in again.

“Ah right, I almost forgot why I actually came here. I have a gift for you!” you blink out of your stupor to hear shuffles, a bottle of hairspray is knocked to the ground due to her movements. The object clamors down and rolls a few feet away but Serval pays it no attention, you quirk a brow at her sudden briskness. “Close your eyes.” she lulls sweetly, you obey despite your state of disorientation.

You feel the faint brushes of her fingers first, then a noticeable weight around your neck, fastened a little too tightly. After she beckons you to open your eyes, you scrutinize the object through your reflection on the mirror and recognize it to be… a choker. It's heavier than what you recall chokers to be, its body is painted in baby blue and when you turn your head the light bounces off its surface to reveal golden outlinings. Three small wings curl around the white tassel hanging from the middle, you find the wings to be unnervingly soft when your fingers brush across them.

The choker looked expensive, despite its somewhat gaudy appearance and it didn't seem like something aligning with Serval's tastes. But most importantly, there's blue and white in it — the two colors you'd been stubbornly avoiding. Your mind spirals, you clearly remember telling Serval that you didn't want to see those two colors today — or, did you? Perhaps it was your mind weaving its own narratives in the flurry of adrenaline? A chill rears its grotesque head, a panic you can't quite push down despite your mind adapting to give her the benefit of the doubt, your breaths lapse unevenly.

“For being such a darling member of Mechanical Fever, a token of our friendship. I didn't know how else to thank you, so I got this instead.” Serval's voice yanks you from the edge of a panic attack, you force yourself to breathe deeply. You turn around when you notice the absence of her shadow, finding her retreating into the shadow of the half ajar door.

You remain seated on the juncture between light and shadow, returning to face the mirror after the rockstar settles on a stool. “I should be the one saying that and… you didn't have to give me this, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.” your thumb and index fingers twiddle with the pure white tassel.

Her words seem to make you forget about your earlier paranoia, nostalgia cascades down your soul as you recall the fond memories inherent to Belobog. Destiny's game is truly difficult to comprehend, to think you'd find an actual home so far from your supposed one.

You add without waiting for her reply, “When I first came here, I was so scared and paranoid. I couldn't sleep the first night and I wanted nothing more than to flee the next morning. I really mean it when I say I couldn't make it without your and the others' help.”

Your palm cradles the beat of your existence, the thin fabric of the crop top does little to muffle your heart's clamorous prance.

“Thank you, thank you so much for everything.” your pour as much gratitude from the river coursing through the recesses of your soul in those words. Your chest constricts as you sigh, you remember all the faces that are now known as familiar and random instances buried deep in your memories. Perhaps it's the naturally cold weather of this planet that plays a part, but you furrow your brows as inexplicable sorrow engulfs your heart.

“I, too, hope that you've had a wonderful experience on this planet.”

A much younger you used to judge the victims of stories for choosing to freeze than to flee in the face of candid danger, vowing to not follow in their footsteps should you meet such a predicament one day. Your heart would shatter to incorrigible bits if it hadn't been so viciously twisted, you realize how futile promises are at the thin line separating life and death.

Your body flinches from its hunched position to meet watchful golden eyes, shielded by the door's shadow. You blink a multitude of times, as if that'd make his poised presence disappear, as if that'd affirm that you were simply in the grips of anxiety and Serval would return to reprimand you back to reality.

The warmth drains from your body when he's still there, sitting in front of you with a mocking serenity — you've never hated the vice grip he maintains on his composure more than this moment. Why, how, when and what conjoins his name to frame a myriad of questions, each being answered by none other than you the very next second. Your ears twitch when you catch voices at the end of the hallway, the actual Serval and others must be retreating. You might be a deer inches away from the tiger's jaw, but you'll not go down without a fight, at least.

“If you're planning to scream, I'd advise against that.” Sunday calmly states, your breath catches in your throat. “The choker on your neck has a shock mechanism and it can be activated in various ways. Namely, any time you raise your voice above the coded decibels and the voltage will increase the louder you scream.”

Your hand flies upwards towards the cursed choker and you wrestle a breath in disbelief, you were made a fool of and quite exquisitely. You realize you should've listened to your gut instincts when you still had the choice. Sunday raises a gloved palm when you restlessly tug at the thing, “Don’t bother, it can only be taken off with a password.”

A password only he knows, you conclude. It was not news to you that his sanity is loose from the hinges of his soul, but never would you have expected him to go this far. You glare at your husband, though it looks more like a gazelle's helpless stare as it struggles in the jaws of a predator. The voices from the hallway disappear entirely, you'd told them not to look for you so they'll not return, you feel your eyes moisten as you realize you're stuck alone with Sunday.

“Why—” you choke.

“I understand that you must have a lot of questions,” his words are half resignation and half cheap empathy. “But it is not your turn to speak, for there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Sunday stands up, brows scrunching at the dust floating around the room. “The matter of your possible unfaithfulness is one thing,” his hand grips the handle of the door and you flinch. “But performing in front of so many people without any consideration of how far it'll spread, or choice of attire,” your body erupts in shudders upon feeling his pointed stare, the expanse of your exposure finally registering.

“Truly unbefitting of my spouse.”

But it's not his judging gaze that has your nerves frayed, it's the hints of genuine disappointment that borders on anger leaking through his words that makes you feel parched, makes you want the earth split in half and take you from this situation. Your experience with Sunday has taught you that he has the patience of a saint, but none of those memories reassure you that it's boundless. You realize that you've never actually seen his face contorted in ire, no matter how defiant you'd been. Aeons, you wish it stayed that way forever.

As the shadow of the closing door engulfs your form and leaves the rest to interpretation, the last thing you see are his darkened golden eyes — you're certain that, that was the instance the last spirited part of you died.

rest in peace i guess

#requests: batch two #answered #yandere #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

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heliads · 11 months

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Something More

Based on this request: "a jealous four. reader isnt oblivious and sees the way four looks and acts with her but she gets tired of him taking long to shoot his shot so she starts flirting with another dude to make him jealous"

request sourced freshly from wattpad

masterlist

Something in this room is driving you mad. You can feel the weight of it pinned directly between your shoulder blades like a knife, following you relentlessly no matter where you go. You can pace back and forth across the training room, you can traverse the whole of the Dauntless complex, but you still know it’s there, he’s there. Watching. Waiting.

Four.

It is not an aggressive stare, this, it does not make you afraid, far from it. Four is not a threat to you, nor, you think, he will ever be. He is simply looking, simply observing, but for some reason that act has the power to completely throw you off kilter.

Maybe it’s because he is only ever looking at you like this. Yes, that must be it. Four is an instructor, he has the responsibility to watch everyone here to keep them from harming themselves or others, but something is different when he’s around you. Instead of passively observing, he’s well and truly looking at you, like he likes what he sees and wants to see more, too.

You try to put it out of your mind. Four is not your concern here, or not so anything more than the fact that he’s one of your initiation instructors and you’re trying not to get dropped before you enter the faction properly. It’s not Four’s fault if you get distracted by his attention. It’s not Four’s fault if it only ever leaves you wanting something more.

As time goes on, though, and that something more never comes, you start to chafe against the constant pressure of his attention even more than before. He treats you differently than the other initiates, but only slightly, only ever enough to make you dream of the possibility of something changing down the line. He’ll never give you more than the time of day, but from the way he won’t ever stop his constant affiliation with you, you can’t escape the idea that maybe, just maybe, he wants that something more just as much as you do.

The end of Phase One of Dauntless initiation draws ever closer, and Four fails to act on anything he may or may not be feeling. You could be wrong, of course, he could mean nothing by his ever present attention, but you’re not willing to take the risk of letting a small something fade away and be forgotten once initiation is over.

If Four will not do something, well, then, the burden of acting on these impulses falls to you. Tricking an initiation leader into revealing his hand won’t be the easiest task in the world, but you’re not one to back down from a challenge. Four should know that, seeing as he’s so inclined to marking your every action. He should know that you would provoke him like this, and he should have seen it coming from quite far off indeed.

You need one more person in your scheme to get under Four’s skin. You find your target with ease— Thomas, a dark haired boy also in your initiation class, close enough to your rank that you won’t have to worry about keeping him close but just enough below that you’ll be able to drop him without needing to fear retaliation. Thomas is fast, smart, strong, all the things that would perhaps give someone like Four cause for concern. In short, he is perfect, and so the plan is laid.

Next morning, you ask Thomas if he wants to spar together the next morning, just to practice. He nods readily; you’re one of the best people here, it’s why you thought Four started paying attention to you in the first place, up until the point when he stayed there in your corner even when you made mistakes. The two of you head to a fighting ring near the side of the training hall, and if you specifically chose the one right in Four’s line of vision, well, no one needs to notice that but the two of you.

You jump up and down, trying to get some blood back into your muscles. Across the ring, Thomas does the same. He grins at you, evidently proud that you’ve chosen him of all the other eligible fighters. “Hope you aren’t looking for a victory, Y/N, because I’m going to kick your ass.”

He’s grinning, though, so you smile back. “You wish. When we’re done, you’ll have more broken bones than everyone in the med wing combined.”

“Promise?” Thomas asks, laughing, and lunges for you. You roll just in time, hitting the ground right before him.

Usually, this is the part where you get right back up again, ready to take him down for good. However, your primary motive for this little endeavor isn’t necessarily to win, just to get someone’s eyes on you. So, you stay down, grappling with Thomas so he has no choice but to pin you, up until the point where you escape out from under him and do the same.

Thomas raises a brow suggestively. “You know, I may have lost that round, but I’m kind of happy anyway.”

You grin. “Does that mean you’re fine with losing again? I’m sure my ranking and I won’t have any problems with that.”

Thomas opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by the sound of an irritable shout. It’s Four, arms folded so tightly across his chest that he looks a few seconds away from breaking a rib. “Focus, initiates! You’re not here to talk.”

When you glance over at him, you can’t help but smirk at how furious he looks. Everything is going according to plan, then, he’s jealous, just as expected. He may be in charge of everyone here today, but damn if you can’t play him like any other. Looks like all that talk about so few fears and so much bravery doesn’t stand in the face of plain old envy.

In a great show of reluctance, you get off of Thomas, extending your hand to help him up. He takes it, knuckles lingering over yours for a few moments longer than necessary. You can just make out Four’s silhouette over Thomas’ shoulder, how every fiber in his body seems to radiate with barely controlled anger.

You can only push a ruse so far before it becomes too obvious, though, so you drop Thomas’ hand and get back into a fighting position. This time, you try a little harder to win, exchanging punches and kicks for a good period of time before ‘accidentally’ dropping your guard and letting Thomas tackle you around the middle. He’s obviously in the mood to play around too, and takes his time spinning you in the air before placing you carefully on the ground.

“You better watch yourself,” he says, breath uneven from the exertion of the fight, “I think I’m catching up to you.”

You look up at him, eyes half-lidded. Thomas’ dark hair falls around his face, given the impression of a halo by the light right behind his head. All of a sudden, though, he’s ripped away, and the blinding light falls onto your face to reveal a newcomer. You didn’t hear Four climb up onto the platform of the fighting ring, nor did you detect him coming so close until he pushed Thomas away from you.

Four’s face is a dark slate, devoid of any emotion except a sharp, cold fury. His voice is clipped when he speaks, and when he tells you to meet him outside, now, Thomas actually jumps out of his way. Thomas flashes you an apologetic look as you go, but you can’t find it within you to return it. After all, this isn’t a punishment, not for you.

In fact, this is exactly what you wanted. A scene, a public show, some sign that Four would be willing to transgress his perfect picture of leadership to make his feelings known to you. You may have forced his hand more than a little, sure, but all’s well that ends well.

The door slams shut behind you, abandoning both you and Four to the dark emptiness of the hall outside the training room. All the other initiates are somewhere inside that cavernous chamber, running laps or practicing their form, and the other Dauntless are at their jobs. No one would see the two of you, then. No one would see what transpired here at all save you and him and the beating tension between the two of you.

Four’s face doesn’t lose its chill even when Thomas is out of sight. “Do you want to tell me what that was?”

You shrug as casually as you can. “I was sparring with a friend. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Oh, really?” Four asks, “A friend? That’s what you call whatever that little display was?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him. It’s far more fun to play the innocence card as long as you can, it certainly doesn’t help Four’s temper.

Four scoffs. “Of course you do. You think I didn’t see how often you were looking at me? That whole time you were with him, purposefully going easy so he could keep his hands on you. You think I wanted to see that?”

“I don’t know,” you repeat, “You haven’t given me any reason to think otherwise. All you do is stand there and watch. Maybe one of us had to do something.”

“So that’s what this was?” Four asks, brows raised, “You wanted to do something? I’ll show you something.”

You’re expecting the kiss, you have been all morning, but that doesn’t stop the breath from leaving your lungs in one rapid rush when it finally happens. His hand is on the back of your neck, keeping you there, with him, in that moment. It feels like drowning, but the thought of living after this is such an inconceivable notion that you’d rather just let the waters claim you whole.

He breaks away eventually, unfortunately, and even in the shadows of the corridor with his face only bare millimeters away from yours you can still tell that he’s proud of himself, corners of his lips twisted up in victory. “Was it worth it?” He asks slowly.

You let out a half-laugh, a needy breath taking over the rest. “It was,” you decide.

“Good,” he tells you, and kisses you again, just so you can be sure. Perhaps jealousy has its merits after all.

divergent tag list: @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @manyfandomsfanvergent, @imwaysthelastchoice, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @crazyhearttragedy, @alex-1967s-blog

#four #four imagines #four x reader #four oneshot #tobias eaton #tobias eaton imagines #tobias eaton x reader #tobias eaton oneshot #divergent #divergent imagines #divergent x reader #divergent oneshot #divergent four #divergent four imagines #divergent four x reader #divergent four oneshot

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masquerade // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, petnames, sexual tension, teasing, possessive!gojo, jealous sex, rough sex, implied age gap, dirty talk, unprotected sex

wc ⇢ 4.9k

a/n: i headcanon that gojo would definitely fuck his genderbent version

"No way, there's absolutely no way I'm losing this bet!" you declared, eyes shining with competitive determination.

Gojo simply chuckled, running a hand through his silver hair as he leveled you with an infuriatingly calm look. "We'll see about that, pretty girl. I hope you're prepared to eat those words."

You stuck your tongue out at your mentor in a childish display, ignoring the spark of heat that flared in your belly at his teasing endearment. Squaring your shoulders, you focused back on the task at hand - besting Gojo Satoru in an impromptu cursed tool duel.

The terms had been simple: whoever disarmed or immobilized the other first would get to choose their partner's costume for the upcoming Halloween soiree being thrown at the Kamo Estate. As one of the oldest and most prestigious jujutsu families, their holiday celebrations were always a lavish affair that attracted sorcerers of status from across the region. Needless to say, you were determined to avoid any humiliating outfits by claiming victory.

You circled each other warily, fingers twitching in preparation to summon your respective tools. A bead of sweat trickled down your temple as you tried to predict Gojo's opening move. Despite his perpetually laid-back demeanor, he was a finely honed weapon - powerful, precise and lightning-quick to strike.

Seconds ticked by in tense stillness. Then, without warning, Gojo was a blur of motion, pale hair whipping around his face as he twisted and struck out with one long arm. You threw yourself sideways in a desperate dodge, boots skidding across the training room floor as you pivoted to face him again. But he was already capitalizing on your evasion with a flurry of sharp jabs and slicing arcs, each one guided by a hair's breadth from clipping your defenses.

Cursing, you backpedaled furiously, mind racing to formulate a counterstrategy as you parried and deflected his relentless assault. He was aiming to herd you into an inescapable corner, you realized - a position from which he could use his greater size and strength to pin you effortlessly.

Gritting your teeth, you waited for the precise moment his next overextended swing left the barest opening in his defenses. Then, with every ounce of your cursed power thrumming through your limbs, you twisted and launched yourself into a furious set of combos.

Gojo's eyes widened fractionally as you unleashed everything you had, pushing him back in a dizzying flail of fists, elbows, and knees. You could sense his surprise at the sheer force behind each blow, the speed and fluidity of your combinations leaving him unable to predict the source of your next attack.

For one blazing, triumphant second, you caught a glimpse of victory as you arced into a spinning heel kick aimed squarely at his temple. But then Gojo was there, materializing inside your defenses with that masterful grasp of space and time that made him nigh untouchable. One second you were on the offensive, the next you were crashing into the unforgiving floorboards with a breathless "oof," limbs twisted and cursed tools clattering uselessly away.

"Well now," Gojo purred, looming over your winded form with a satisfied grin. "Looks like I win again, baby girl." His hand was warm and calloused where it encircled your wrist, grip light but unbreakable.

Groaning, you flopped back against the mats in a dramatic display, skin still tingling from your exertions. "That's so not fair," you whined petulantly. "I totally had you on the ropes that time!"

Gojo barked out a laugh, nudging your side with the toe of one shoe. "In your dreams, maybe," he teased. "A good effort though. Maybe next time you'll actually pose a challenge."

Pushing up onto your elbows, you leveled your best glare at the infuriatingly smug man. "You are SO going to regret those words, sensei. Just wait until you see what ridiculous costume I put you in next year!"

His grin widened in a way that made your stomach flip with anticipation. "I'm counting on it, beautiful."

The following week was spent in a whirlwind of preparation as the Kamo Estate staff readied for the biggest event of their social calendar - the annual All Hallows' Eve Masquerade Gala. Gojo, curse him, remained completely unhelpful about his chosen costume, waving off your repeated inquiries with that maddening enigmatic smile of his.

"You'll just have to wait and see," was all he would say, the gleam in his eyes promising delicious torment. "It's going to be a surprise."

And surprise you he did, on the night of the Gala when he finally unveiled your "costume" with a dramatic flourish of cursed energy. Lying innocently on your bed was an all-too-familiar set of clothes - Gojo's signature uniform of a plain white undershirt and billowing black slacks and jacket.

You sputtered incoherently, gesturing between him and the outfit laid out before you. "You cannot be serious!"

But that bastard just grinned back at you, all sharp canines and twinkling mischief. "Oh, I'm dead serious. You wanted an embarrassing costume, pretty girl? Well here it is, in all its glory."

Frantically, you cycled through a dozen different protests and pleading arguments, each of which he deftly waved aside with infuriatingly logical counterpoints. By the time he was done dismantling your defenses, you had no choice but to grumble your capitulation and snatch up the clothes, stomping towards the bathroom to change with as much dignity as you could muster.

"You're going to regret this," you threw over your shoulder with as much venom as you could muster. "Just you wait!"

Once the door clicked shut behind you, however, your feisty attitude melted away into pure girlish giddiness. Sure, wearing your mentor's clothes in public could be considered a bit humiliating. But you'd be lying if you denied how the thought of being surrounded by Gojo's scent, of wearing the same outfit that clung to his broad frame didn't spark a fluttering warmth low in your belly.

Quickly stripping down, you took a moment to appraise the garments with an appreciative eye, fingers trailing over the soft cotton of the undershirt. Even just holding it up to your body, the excess fabric was dwarfing your slender frame adorably. Giddiness mounting, you slipped it on carefully, rolling the cuffs up your forearms.

The fitted white fabric pulled taut across your chest, the sloping vee of the collar frequently slipping off one shoulder to tease at the soft swell of cleavage it created. A possessive thrill shot down your spine as you adjusted it back into place. This shirt, the one that skimmed and hinted at the sculpted planes of Gojo's body, now lovingly outlined the feminine curves it had never been intended to cup so intimately.

Restless heat blossomed under your skin at the thought of him seeing you wearing it later tonight - tousled, practically spilling out in all the right places. Would his gaze linger as unsubtly as yours always did on him? Or would his effortless cool manage to rein in any excessive reaction?

Anticipation began curling tight in your core as you recalled the thousands of lingering, liquid-hot glances you'd exchanged with Gojo over your years of training. The way his stare could scorch across your bare skin, turning mundane movements into something charged and provocative as he drank in your form with ravenous intensity. What you wouldn't give to see that look of blatant male appreciation washing over his handsome features as you showed up in this sinfully snug getup.

Shaking yourself free of the dizzying fantasy, you took a steadying breath before eyeing the slacks with disappointment. As you suspected, they were entirely too loose around your hips and thighs to be flattering. With a frustrated huff, you shimmied out of them, leaving them in a puddle on the floor.

Your gaze landed on a pair of worn but buttery-soft leather boots tucked in the back of your closet. A wicked grin curved your lips as you tugged them on, lacing the tall shafts all the way up to mid-thigh. The supple leather embraced your legs like a second skin, accentuating the toned lines and feminine swell of your calves in a deliciously provocative way.

You barely recognized yourself in Gojo's oversized undershirt paired with those thigh-high boots. Instead of the properly buttoned-up appearance his uniform conveyed on him, you oozed a wanton, edible sort of allure - all tousled hair, stretched cotton, and miles of creamy leg on display. Your mouth went dry imagining how Gojo might react to such a tantalizing twist on his borrowed look.

'Two can play at this game, sensei,' you thought wickedly, eyeing the smolderingly seductive lines and hints of bare skin your borrowed outfit provided.

After securing the jacket, you realized simply styling your own hair wouldn't quite achieve the full Gojo effect you were going for. A sly smile curved your lips as you procured a long, straight white wig from the depths of your costume trunk.

Carefully situating the silky strands, you fluffed and arranged them until they tumbled nearly to your waist in a perfect mimicry of Gojo's signature silver mane. Coupled with the oversized uniform draped over your frame, the full look was startlingly effective.

The only thing missing now was the pièce de résistance. A wicked grin curved your lips as you rooted around in his cupboard to procure a familiar black-framed pair of glasses. Pulling them on, you struck an exaggerated pose, imitating that cocky smirk and calculating squint he so loved to level at you during training.

"Hollow technique: Purple," you growled in a lower register, jabbing an imperious finger into the mirror. "Tch, not even worth the effort."

Giggles bubbled up uncontrollably at your shoddy impersonation. But one glance back at your reflection snuffed the laughter from your throat instantly. Never could you have predicted just how...devastating the whole ensemble would look together.

Raking a heated gaze down your figure, you took in the panels of taut, stretched fabric clinging deliciously to every curve. The alcohol collar and unbuttoned plackets teased at tantalizing swells of cleavage while the cuffed hems allowed teasing flashes of toned legs to peek through. Paired with the untamed silver and signature spectacles, the entire look was pure, potent temptation - a wicked combination of dishevelment and restraint, of masculine and feminine.

You spun and posed, watching in the mirror as the loosened shirttails flared out around your hips, providing glimpses of the black lacy panties painted onto your backside. A rosy flush crept up your throat at the blatant allure, suddenly unsure if you possessed the sheer audacity to debut this ensemble publicly.

A sharp rap at the bathroom door startled you from your reverie. "You about ready in there?" Gojo's husky voice filtered through the wood, sending a shiver of pure sin down your spine. "Or do I need to come in and help get you properly dressed, pretty girl?"

You swallowed hard, breath catching at the dark promise laced through his tone. Was it your imagination, or did he somehow already know the delectable effect his clothes would have draped over your frame? The thought had your blood pounding anew in a heady rush of nervous excitement.

"I'll be right out," you called back, somewhat proud of yourself for keeping your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. One last heated glance at the mirror and your reflection was all but searing itself into the backs of your eyelids. If Gojo thought he could torment you further by forcing this depraved twist of a costume upon you, then he had sorely underestimated your own deviant brand of mischief.

Straightening your spine, you threw open the bathroom door and sauntered out wearing every ounce of sordid confidence you could muster. Gojo stood leaned against the wall, arms crossed negligently over that sculpted chest you knew so well from countless clandestine ogling sessions. But the second his visible eye landed on you, his entire body seized up in an unmistakable full-body jolt.

With no small degree of heady satisfaction, you watched distinct shock and something infinitely darker flare across those striking features you admired so profoundly. His stare raked over your figure in a molten sweep, nostrils flaring as he scented the air with unrestrained hunger. And lower, beneath the loose vee of his unbuttoned slacks, you caught the unmistakable twitching of rapidly interested anatomy.

Well well, it seemed turnabout was fair play in the battle of temptation. You offered a simpering smirk, propping one hand on a cocked hip in a move you'd seen him execute a hundred times - legs shifting just enough to highlight the pleasant distraction at his groin.

"Like what you see...sensei?" The endearment dripped from your tongue like poisoned honey as you tracked his body's visceral reaction. "I modeled it pretty closely after the real thing, don't you think?"

A tremor rocked through his deceptively relaxed stance as the full implications sank in, gaze darkening perceptibly when you toyed with the fabric riding up your thighs. Slowly, he drank you in from tousled crown all the way down to where his shirttails brushed teasingly over the bottom of your ass before slashing back up in another unhurried glide of naked appreciation.

The heavy weight of his undisguised desire washed over you in dizzying waves, stoking the tendrils of challenge and want already suffusing your bloodstream. You felt powerful in a way you rarely allowed yourself to embrace - beautiful and profoundly sensual under the searing brand of Gojo's attention.

"You look..." he started roughly, pupils blown wide before Adam's apple bobbed in a harsh swallow. "Sinful," he finally rasped, the single syllable loaded with enough molten promise to scorch. "Absolutely fucking sinful, pretty girl."

A punched-out gasp slipped free at the blatant admission, need guttering low and hot in your pussy. Bold, you took one pointed step closer, until the fabric of his borrowed jacket brushed softly against his abdomen. The tips of your breasts skated lightly across the clean lines of his chest as you leaned in, mouth brushing his ear in a ghosting caress.

"So do something about it, sensei," you growled, nails raking lightly down the front of his shirt. "Show me how sinful you want to be."

For one tremulous heartbeat, you thought he might actually give in to the simmering tension and haul you bodily against him right then and there. His jaw flexed tellingly, fingers flexing at his sides as muscles coiled for action. But then he blew out a long, shuddering breath, spine straightening as the burning intensity blinked out behind his lids.

"Don't tempt me, baby," he rasped in a low purr, tone thick with sinful promise that had your knees quaking. One large, calloused palm cupped your jaw reverently, angling your face up towards his in a searing look of abject want. "I'm only a man, and you look good enough to eat in that little getup."

He allowed his thumb to drag slowly over the plush swell of your lower lip, gaze riveted while you instinctively parted on a shuddery inhale. Your senses swam with the woodsy undercurrent of his cologne, the scorching heat of skin and muscle thrumming just beyond reach.

"But sadly, we have somewhere to be tonight," Gojo continued, voice pitched quieter yet somehow infinitely more powerful in your close proximity. His eyes raked over you again, taking in the way his shirt barely contained your curves and how you'd opted to forgo the slacks.

Instead, a pair of wicked black leather boots laced all the way up to the middle of your thighs framed your bare legs deliciously. He groaned low in his throat at the sight of so much skin on display, gaze heating further when he noticed the full, straight silver wig cascading nearly to your waist in a perfect mimicry of his hairstyle.

"And if I started getting a taste of you now...well, I wouldn't be able to stop. Not until I'd thoroughly ruined you for the rest of the night's events."

Your mouth went bone dry as graphic imaginings of his sinful promise ricocheted across your consciousness. Unconsciously, your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, silently imploring his thumb to dip between them, to caress heated skin and let you suckle on the rough pad.

But Gojo simply grinned wolfishly, knowing far too well the images he'd conjured behind your hooded gaze. "Easy there, pretty girl," he crooned, all indulgent heat and dark delight. "Soon enough you can have all the punishment you can handle. First though, we have to attend a party."

In an effort to regain some scrap of composure, you cleared your throat, ignoring the shaky rasp. "I'm not sure I can pull off that hair," you countered weakly, reaching up to attempt taming the silver strands. To your utter dismay, Gojo's hand shot out and clamped around your wrist, effortlessly thwarting your movements.

God, he couldn't get over the delicious recreation of his look - the fitted shirt straining at the buttons, those long, lean legs accentuated by the knee-high leather...it was as if he'd been stripped bare and repackaged as the most tantalizing, irresistible version of himself imaginable.

"Don't," he commanded, voice dropping into that smooth, spine-tingling bass that infallibly left you aching and molten. His free hand wound through the tousled locks, mussing them further into resembling his artfully mussed style. "Leave it just like this. Every time I glance over, I want to be reminded of how utterly delicious you look in my clothes. So very pretty for me."

A delirious sound punched out of your core at his gravelly praise, knees going watery at the second heady rush of promised debauchery glimmering in those devilish blue eyes. God, how you burned to give in and let him utterly wreck you right then and there. But the iron bands of his behemoth self-control held firm.

"Now then," he practically growled, punctuating the words with a scorching press of bodies, "I believe we have a party to attend? Hmm, pretty girl?"

You managed a shaky nod, delirious with wanting. How much longer could you keep dancing around this undeniable inferno?

At the Gala, every eye was instantly trained on you from the moment you arrived on Gojo's arm. You could feel the weight of hungry stares caressing your body as you moved through the crowd, taking in your blatant mimicry of Gojo's look from the glossy wig to the clinging shirt. More than one leering partygoer let their gaze linger just a bit too long on the exposed expanses of thigh and cleavage.

For his part, Gojo seemed to bask in the absolute chaos you were causing. One broad palm never left the small of your back, possessively guiding you through the throngs of people while sending a clear message to any who dared approach - this pretty little thing belonged to him.

And oh, how you reveled in his proprietary attitude. Something low and wicked in your core thrilled to be so openly claimed, desired with such naked ferocity in front of all these esteemed strangers. Gojo's intense stare scarcely left you for more than a few seconds, tracking your every move with a heated focus that bordered on predatory.

More than once, you slanted a sultry glance in his direction, lower lip caught between your teeth as you preened shamelessly under his ravenous regard. His visible eye would instantly darken to cobalt, jaw ticking with barely restrained hunger before he forcibly dragged his attention back to whatever politician or clan head was fawning for his attention.

"Down, boy," you purred at one point, leaning in so your pouty murmur brushed hot against the shell of his ear. "Don't make me put you in timeout, sensei."

The low, guttural rumble that punched out of Gojo's chest sent delicious frissons of heat licking through your veins. You giggled privately at how his fingers flexed against your hip, thumb rubbing distracting little circles into the jut of bone.

"Oh I'll show you time out," he growled back through a smile placid enough to fool the nobles milling nearby. "Just wait until I get you alone later, pretty girl. I'm going to teach you all about punishment."

A full-body shudder rocked through you at the dark promise, nipples pebbling painfully beneath the thin cotton. Every nerve was alight with giddy anticipation at what delicious retribution Gojo might have in store for your cheekiness.

Your little game of teasing cat and mouse continued in that vein for most of the evening. He would pin you with those unholy bedroom eyes, gaze dropping conspicuously to the shadows hinting at your body's secrets beneath the too-small uniform. In retaliation, you'd arch into him with a sugary innocent expression, reveling in the way his pupils would blow wide and his breath would stutter over a barely perceptible growl. The heated charge between you grew thicker and headier with every tortuous brush of skin and wicked murmur exchanged.

Eventually, it all became too much for even Gojo's formidable restraint. You were draped over one of the antique sofas, legs crossed in a way that allowed the rumpled white shirt to slip rakishly up your thighs, when he suddenly materialized before you like a force of nature.

His large hand encircled your bare ankle in a scalding grip as piercing blue eyes bored into yours from behind the familiar black frames. You shivered at the mute intensity of his stare, that intoxicating aura of power and sin rolling off him in waves as he slowly, inexorably dragged you upright and flush against his chest.

"That's it, pretty girl," he rasped into the heated hollow beneath your ear. The words were velvet soft yet laced with enough dominant possession to have you melting against his solid frame. "I've been more than patient with you all night. But enough is enough - you've tested every last ounce of control I have."

You shuddered violently as his mouth grazed your jaw in a hot, openmouthed glide. "Sensei..." you whimpered, not even sure what you were pleading for anymore.

"Shh, I've got you," he murmured, a scorching palm settling at the small of your back to guide you through the gawking crowd. "Time to go, baby. You and I have a... private lesson to attend."

Somewhere beyond the thudding rush of arousal, you recognized the distinct clearing of throats and murmured whispers from the nearby guests as you allowed Gojo to propel you towards the exits. But it was impossible to care when he was caging you against him with such blatant feral intent, muscles locked into coiling restraint like a panther poised to pounce on its prey.

The cool night air hit your overheated skin like a slap once you stumbled outside. Gojo didn't so much as pause before scooping you up into his arms in a bridal carry, cursed energy already whipping around you in preparation to activate his Infinite Void technique.

"Hold on tight, pretty girl," he warned, the normally gentle rumble of his voice pitched low enough to send molten heat shearing through your core. "This may get...intense."

And with that, the entire world collapsed in on itself until there was nothing but the whisper of energy across your nerve-endings and the solid warmth of Gojo's body wrapped around you as the in-between rushed past in a blur.

You materialized seconds later in your dormitory suite, Gojo already stalking towards the bedroom with you cradled to his chest. He kicked the door shut with a deafening bang before throwing you onto the mattress with enough force to bounce you enticingly.

Chest heaving, you pushed up onto your elbows to drink in the sight of him looming over the foot of the bed - hair tousled into glorious disarray, shirt disheveled and straining against his broad frame, eyes burning with naked sin and untempered hunger. He looked like some kind of depraved avenging angel, utterly devastating in his authority and desire.

"Do you have any idea," he growled, prowling closer like a predator scenting its prey, "what you've put me through tonight with that little act of yours?"

A shocked squeak fled your lips as one large hand fisted in the loose hair of your wig, yanking just harshly enough to expose the vulnerable line of your throat. Gojo took greedy advantage of your arched position, dipping down to lave hot, filthy kisses along the thundering pulse point as you writhed beneath him.

"All evening, I've been surrounded by the scent of you in my clothes," he rasped against your slick skin, free hand already dragging the shirt up to divest you of the flimsy material. You arched eagerly into his frantic touches, nails scoring paths down the quivering muscles of his back as his lips continued branding every inch of bare flesh.

"That sweet, pretty little body of yours wrapped up to look just like me. All decked out in black and white and silver...fuck, you're lucky I didn't bend you over in front of everyone at the party and take what's mine!"

A desperate keen reverberated from your very bones at the graphic suggestion, hips straining upwards instinctively to grind against the rigid cock already pressing into your soaked pussy. Gojo rewarded the involuntary motion with a punishingly deep grind of his own, dragging the luxurious slide of cotton over your swollen clit and leaving you boneless and gasping.

"Is that what you wanted, baby?" he rumbled darkly, nipping your ear with blunt teeth. "To make me lose control and defile you in front of all those poor, unsuspecting fools?"

You could only whine in response, beyond coherent speech at this point. Rough hands shoved the hem of his shirt up to bare your chest, bunching the fabric over your ribcage as Gojo settled onto his knees between your splayed thighs. Cool air ghosted over your feverish skin for only a moment before his mouth enveloped one taut nipple in an all-encompassing scald.

It was like the last floodgate had opened, finally allowing the pent-up tension thrumming between you to surge free in an unstoppable flood. You dissolved into a litany of shameless sounds - moans and whimpers and breathy curses that only seemed to goad Gojo on further. Soon the bedroom filled with the filthy sounds of devoured kisses, skin slapping on skin, and flesh stretching to desperate accommodation around the punishing thrusts into your convulsing body.

Over and over again, he hilted himself inside your drenched cunt with enough force to slide your sweat-slicked bodies up the rumpled sheets. Wave after wave of blinding, throbbing pleasure eroded the last remnants of sense until your entire universe narrowed to the mouthwatering play of chiseled muscle and tendon as he hovered over you. You couldn't get enough of his harsh grunts, the deeper-than-sin rasp of his voice crooning debauched praises and sinful promises against your fevered skin.

"That's it, just like that, baby girl," he ground out as your nails scored down his back hard enough to sting. "Open up nice and pretty for your sensei. Going to absolutely fucking ruin you for anyone else after I'm done."

The very thought sent electric sparks arcing straight to your clenching pussy, throat already rubbed raw from howling your rapture into the quiet night. There was nothing recognizable left in your voice as you chanted his name like a benediction, uncaring of how the whole dormitory might hear your shameless cries while Gojo robbed you of any last shred of composure.

His hips snapped in a final few deep, piston-like drags before stilling with a full-bodied shudder. The feeling of him painting your fluttering pussy in thick, virile streaks of cum finally triggered your own cresting climax. You shattered around him with a ragged wail, arching wildly as exquisite pulses of lightning ricocheted out in tingling waves to your fingertips and curling toes.

Boneless and limp as a ragdoll, you lay there soaked in the glorious aftermath. Gojo blanketed you with his weight, his breath rasping hotly over your sweat-dampened skin, lips tracing sluggish patterns in their comedown. Neither of you moved for long stretches, simply existing in the tranquil silence of that sacred, sated space.

Finally, Gojo pulled back just enough to free his arms and gather you carefully into his embrace. You hummed out a contented sound, burrowing shamelessly into the solid comfort of his chest while clever fingers worked the constricting knots out of your wig until the heavy silver strands cascaded freely onto the pillows.

"You," he started, pausing to clear his throat and collect his scattered thoughts, "are going to be the absolute death of me one day, pretty girl."

The words were fond instead of chastising as he pressed lingering closed-mouth kisses into your hairline. You smiled against the corded expanse of his throat.

"Promise?" you murmured cheekily, arching up to ghost your lips across the strong column of muscle. A low groan rumbled against your mouth at the blatant provocation.

"Mark my words," Gojo growled, rolling you both until he loomed over your pliant, wrecked body once more. This time though, his touch was barely-there, gentle, almost worshipful as he traced the scattered constellation of marks blooming across your damp skin. "By the time I'm through with you, you won't be able to so much as look at another set of clothes without thinking of me, of how thoroughly I'm going to take you apart and put you back together again."

The heated storm in your blood kick-started anew at his dangerous tone, goosebumps prickling in the wake of his maddening caress. There was no doubt in your racing heart that this deliciously sinful man would make good on every last lurid implication behind those words. And you couldn't wait.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru smut

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velteris · 3 months

Text

If Zoltraak so OP, why doesn’t Frieren/Copyren use it to fight each other?: a silly tactics essay

Madhouse is absolutely killing it with their gorgeous fight scenes that also make more sense the more you dig into them. In this episode, it's the senior citizen fight scene, where Frieren busts out the scary spells for the first time after telling us that Zoltraak is fast, efficient, powerful, the best combat spell etc etc. So why don't they use it against each other? The answer is this 2-second scene:

Let’s review what we’ve been told about Zoltraak. It’s “piercing magic that pierced through the defensive magic of humans and magic resistant equipment, and directly destroyed the body”. Zoltraak is generally good at destroying physical things.

In turn, the hexagonal shield magic—as Qual deduces—“synchronises with offensive magic and disperses the power”. But this costs lots of mana, and is weak against attacks of physical mass.

The rock-paper-scissors of modern magic is, then, Zoltraak-shield-physical mass.

Another note: it seems possible to cast both a shield and another offensive magic (maybe only Zoltraak?) at the same time, as in Frieren and Denken’s duel, and as with Methode vs golems.

Back to the Frierens.

Zoltraak is fast, efficient in mana usage, and powerful. It’s “enough for mages of the modern era”. Frieren and Fern usually spam this one spell; Copyren also uses it against Denken and co. So they would like to open with it.

Knowing that, they both bring up the hexagonal shield, ready to disperse Zoltraak. But, they both realize that Frieren’s Zoltraak cannot defeat Frieren’s hexagon shield. Edel states the two methods of getting past a shield: breaking it by force, or bypassing it with speed. Neither can get a single Zoltraak off strong enough that can shatter the corresponding shield, so they start shifting their aim, but they react just as fast to each other so there’s no openings.

Then what about multiple Zoltraaks? Presumably they could both keep the shields up while also casting Zoltraak, so they could turtle down into a battle of attrition and see who makes a minor inefficient mistake. But! Copyren is facing two mages, not one. It will definitely lose in a shield-whittling contest. Even if they had infinite mana, if they sit there playing chicken with the shields, Fern will eventually blast it from behind.

Additional hypothesis: the mana used to defend against an attack with a hexagon shield will always be greater than the mana used to make the attack. Therefore, a mage should aim to always be on the offensive. In Ehre vs Fern, Fern kept creating distance and refused to get pinned down; Ehre got pinned down and that’s why she lost. Both Frierens have a motive to use as little defensive magic and as much offensive magic as possible.

Sadly, it’s a pretty empty room, with not much physical mass to use against each other; Copyren in particular probably wants to avoid eating up the walls of Spiegel’s hideaway. So they need to cast offensive magic, that isn’t Zoltraak, and that doesn’t need existing physical mass.

Before Zoltraak leading to shield leading to mass attacks, it’s likely there wasn’t that much of a need for physical mass specifically. Edel says it takes more mana to conjure than it does to manipulate the environment. But if mass isn’t a requirement, then ye olde mages probably wouldn’t have focused on magics with the weakness of, say, needing a water source nearby (sorry Kanne). It makes sense that old-fashioned attacks were therefore magics that expressed some kind of energy without significant mass: fire, lightning, wind. (Ty @wtfoctagon for laying out this pre-Zoltraak idea!)

Simultaneously, this brings up an interesting question: what kind of defence were pre-Zoltraak (therefore pre-hexagon) mages using?

1. Some other [Defence Magic], but weaker

2. A Warrior

3. More offence!

Forget this newfangled modern mass stuff. Frieren and Copyren go right back to Cast Fireball, the force of which can be dissipated and defended against with Cast Fireball.

Not using the hexagonal shield is actually a more mana-efficient defence. If Zoltraak’s out of the question, then there’s no real need to invest in the heavy anti-Zoltraak shield. And we have already seen a previous example of offence as defence: Fern vs Lugner.

We also see one more example of this kind of old-fashioned mass-less attack in the other senior citizen brawl, where Denken uses Waldgose (tornado) + Daosdorg (fire). It eats up enough mana that even Denken is tapped out by the end. Of course, for Frieren vs Denken, she has so much more mana that there’s no problem spending it on a full-body shield. But if she did the same versus her clone, she would rapidly start losing the attrition battle. So she has to defend with a less costly though much messier method.

One more advantage of non-mass elemental magic: for Copyren, using Hellfire magic is much more of an area-of-effect spell, which might be able to touch Fern as well. For Frieren, it’s a no-brainer to go along with splashing mana everywhere, to help hide Fern’s presence.

Of course, that’s not to say that they won’t take advantage of mass when it exists. The use of Hellfire to make lava out of the falling pillar/wall is a delicious and nutritious anime original addition, and it also makes so much sense.

tl;dr: the Frierens tested and discarded the possibility of a modern-style Zoltraak fight in as much time as it takes us to say "holy shit".

all this of course brings up the question:

If Frieren so OP against Zoltraak, why can Fern use Zoltraak?

because Fern’s OP OP Zoltraak go brrrrr

#frieren #sousou no frieren

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marcsburnerphone · 29 days

Text

And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: kissing, a little tinsy bit angsty, flirtatious banter.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8 - Part 9 - part 10

-------------

“Why’re you putting these up anyway?” You say standing at the bottom of the ladder that John is currently stood on, installing cameras he purchased for outside your home.

“Cause i’ll have to return to work this weekend and i’d like to make sure you’re safe.” you smile to yourself at his protective nature.

“I’ve lived here for ages and nothing has ever happened.” you reassure him as he descends the ladder.

“It’s for my peace of mind.” he says quietly between the two of you in the spring air.

“Okay.” you reply as he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Onto the next corner.” he says gathering the ladder, walking to the other side of the house as his tool belt clings and clangs.

—------------

“Anything you can tell me about this next mission you’re going on?” you ask as the both of you lay on the couch.

“I leave on Sunday and don't know when I'll return, that's all.” He tries to make his deep gruff voice soft it’s a cute attempt. He knew this was going to be the hard part for both of you. You want him to stay and he doesn’t want to go but duty calls.

“Mmm.” you breathe into his chest, trying to inhale him, commit his scent to memory sure it’ll linger but this is straight from the source.

“I'll call you when I can.”

“I thought you weren't allowed to bring a personal phone, that’s what Gaz told me.” you rest your chin on his chest looking up at him.

“Gaz isn’t the captain.” he says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Ah abuse of power is it.” You quip.

“If that’s what it takes to reach you.” You look away not being able to contain your blush after that as if he couldn’t feel your heartbeat quicken.

He lifts your chin back up, leaning down almost straining his neck for a kiss. Of course this kiss turns into more, you move further up the couch straddling his waist you’re hungry for him, for his kisses, groans, deep inhales of air, all of it. He’s flipped the two of you over pinning you beneath him with almost half his weight.

“John, why’re you teasing me?” You whimper.

“Not teasing, takin ma time.”

He kisses down your throat, over your pulse to your collarbone ridding you of your shirt tossing it somewhere to be picked up later. This has been a common occurrence recently thing is he won’t fuck you. No, he will do everything else and give you absolutely anything you want except well what you want.

“John.” You say as he starts to take your pants off.

“Yeah doll?” He slows the movement of his fingers and simply rests them on your hips.

“Why- why won’t you- you know fuck me?” So you did notice.

“Well because I- I actually-“ he’s a stuttering mess for the first time since you’ve met.

“Do you not want to?” You begin as you sit up.

“Of course I do, believe me, but I want to savor you in every single way I can, you're irresistible as you are if I have you the way I want it’s all I’ll think about whilst also trying to not get killed.” He admits while comfortingly rubbing your thigh.

“Oh, that’s actually quite hot.” You feel a little bad, I mean who are you to demand something that’s literally a part of him.

“When I’m back I promise I'll give you my cock like you so desperately want.” Well damn.

——————

“Do you guys share a room wherever these missions are?” You ask as he dices up tomatoes for your antipasto Salad.

“Em there’s rarely time for sleep but sometimes depending where we are we do and other times we don’t. Most times there aren’t even rooms there’s tents or simply no sleep.” He answers before tossing them into the large bowl beside his cutting board as you hum in understanding.

You didn’t know he knew had to cook, well sort of. He can grill, but that’s something that you cannot. So recently he’s been showing you how to smoke and grill different meats, today is what he said was the best of them all and longest cooking time, brisket.

“Do they snore?” You ask as he laughs at your random questions.

“Yeah actually soap snores like a fucking pig, it’s horrible.” Now it’s your turn to laugh as he nods towards the door for you to follow him outside so he can check on the meat.

“Do I snore?” you ask sheepishly. He smiles looking over his shoulder at you, your arms crossed across your chest to make up for your lack of a sweater. When he sees you this way, so comfortable and raw, hair in your face and pajamas at 6PM, it’s everything and more.

“You do.” your eyes go wide.

“No, do I really?” you seem so genuinely concerned.

“Doll everynight i've got to spend beside you has been the deepest and best sleep of my life, if you snore I've got no idea.”

“Thank goodness.” You sigh out as he approaches you.

“Ready to eat?” He asks brushing hair from your face.

“Yes.”

Dinner is more talking than eating on your behalf, you want to soak up every second with him that you can. He listens intently wishing his brain was a recording machine so he could play it back when he needed to feel sane.

“God John that was so good.” You say half an hour after he’s already finished his meal which was also his third serving.

“I’m glad, you always cook. I'm happy to be able to provide you with this one thing.”

“You’ve provided me with much more than this one thing.” You say with a soft smile, it’s so sweet it nearly knocks him breathless.

“I don’t want you to leave.” You admit.

“I know, doll.” He reaches across the table for your hand holding it firmly but not tightly as he looks away.

“But I know you have too.” His eyes return to yours.

“How will I spend my days without thee John Price? What will I do?” You say it over dramatically.

“Nothing too risky I hope.” He replies, eyes crinkling at the corner.

“Maybe I’ll skydive.” You tease.

“Please don’t.”

“Can’t promise.” You joke.

“You’re going to give me more gray hairs.” He said showing you the few already on his head.

“That’s exactly what I want, I love the grays.” And he loves you, but he can’t bring himself to admit it although it isn’t even something he can try to rid himself of at this point it has consumed him whole, sprouting colorful and beautiful things inside him.

“Movie time my darling up we go.” He says as he stands motioning for you to do also.

This is something that has become ritual, dinner then movie. It’s the perfect unwinding time although sometimes most times it turns into more.

“You pick?” You say as you hand him the remote, getting comfortable at his side tucking your head beneath his big arm.

“You’ll fall asleep half way through this.” He looks down at your already drooping eyes.

“No I won’t.”

“You will.” He plays a show you two had begun the other week as he settles in more comfortably moving one of your legs to rest across him.

He’s laughing unaware of just about everything as his whole body shakes, that’s until he notices you’re not and to his not so own surprise you’re passed out cold.

——————

When you wake it’s sometime deep into the night. The tv shows its rest screen and John is sleeping. Unfortunately after a weak attempt at falling asleep you’ve decided you're no longer tired so you just lay there, hand beneath John’s shirt rising and falling with every breath he takes. The only noise to be heard is his heartbeat and the clock ticking.

You begin to overthink the more time passes, you’ll be alone in just two days. The comfort and protection John brings you will be miles away. This warmth that fulfills your soul won’t be in your home any longer. It scares you, how much you want him around how much you love him. You wonder if this is as hard for him as it is for you or if it’s something he’s gotten used to.

It’s overbearing, too much. You untangle yourself from him, sliding your leg over his body and onto the floor, stepping as lightly as you can onto solid ground.

You tiptoe to the kitchen and open the fridge for water. You lean against the counter before taking a sip out of the bottle breathing deeply to calm your racing heart. You’re zoned out completely so much that you don’t notice John come into the kitchen till he’s placing his hands on your hips.

“You scared me.” You jump slightly as he offers you a sleepy smile.

“What’re you doing awake?”

“Can’t sleep.” You say not meeting his eyes.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He asks.

“thought you’d need as much good sleep as possible.” You say quietly, leaning your head on his chest.

“That’s not as important as you.” He rubs a firm hand onto your back pulling you close. He holds you like this for what seems like eternity and you relish in it.

“I’m going to paint for a little, please go lay back down.” He looks exhausted as you finally bring your eyes to him.

“Come paint in my room.” He is tired but he’d rather be sleep deprived than have you anywhere but next to him.

“What? You’re crazy, all my stuff is in the sun room.” You say with a small laugh.

“Then I’ll move it, I can’t sleep when you’re more than 5 feet away from me.”

“Okay.” You know he won’t give up so you’ve learned to give in.

You simply watch as he picks up the heavy canvas and its easel hauling it across the house as you grab your brushes and paints and follow.

He sets it dangerously close to his side of the bed, he even moves the nightstand over to the corner to ensure you have enough room.

“Perfect.” He says after pulling his desk chair out of his office and over to it.

“Yeah actually it kinda is.” You smile.

“Well, have at it.” He says giving you a firm kiss then walking over to the bed and getting comfortable. You sit in his very big but very comfortable desk chair and begin to mix colors in the small pallet that rests on your thigh.

“Goodnight.” He says pulling the chair towards him with an outstretched arm for one more kiss which you happily give.

“Night.”

—————

Released an hour early as a little surprise

It’s my best lol it’ll get better just getting back into my groove:)

As always love ya!!!

————-

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppuff @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving

#captain price x female reader #angst #john price #barry sloane #captain john price #task force 141 #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #and they were roomates series #john price x y/n #Barry Sloan

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iguessthisisanewobsession · 22 days

Text

You know know those fics that make one of the waynes a halfa?

I’m just saying, do ectoblasts have the ability to be shaped to the wielder’s will?

Because if so..

——————————

“This is fucking stupid.”

Jason huffed as he tried to push out another blast from his palm.

“It only feels stupid because you’re not used to it.”

“Of course I’m not used to it. Pretty sure the people who would find this natural would be tamarans.”

Sweat was building under his brow as the green flickered in his palm as he braced his arm and took aim.

The glass broke with a shatter but more to the force of the new crater in the old car they were using in the junkyard than his aim.

Danny hummed as he inspected the damage, Jason plopped down with a huff.

“You’re putting too much of yourself into the blasts. You’re draining yourself with each shot.”

Jason raised a middle finger in the general direction of his compatriot,

“You said it was like the baster, when the things’ crappy battery fucks off I just kind of shove all the energy I can into it hope for the best.”

Danny felt gravity suddenly take hold of him as he jolted, with a quick dip into the ground he righted himself to gawk.

“What?!”

“What?” Jason parroted back, “what’s with that look?”

Danny brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a second before asking,

“Dude.. how have you not passed out yet?”

“Spite and audacity. Mainly spite.”

“No shit.”

Danny moved so that he was facing Jason with consternation,

“Jay.. how do I best explain this? Yes, you are the power source both, you do power both the ectobasts and the blaster. The problem is that you are not taking into account that you are not a blaster.”

Jason snorted,

“Yeah no shit I’m not.”

“No you don’t- wait let me just-“

Danny reached inside of himself and pulled out a wrist ray.

“So normally these guys only have about two shots before they need to naturally charge, what we do when we force our ecto into the battery is the equivalent of a super charge. The thing is, the battery has a natural cap to how much ecto it can take. If it didn’t it would just turn into slag.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Jay, you don’t have that cap because you are both the power source and the battery when you ectoblast. You don’t have a power cap other than what you can make at a time!”

Jason blinked for a second,

“So what you’re saying is i have basically been hail marry-ing it whenever I have been dealing with these stupid things!?”

“Hey this is good actually!”

Danny as he raised to his feet,

“you’ve been accidentally doing endurance training and nowww we know what was wrong. We just need to give you a better mental visual to help you! What’s a weapon you know that will make yourself limit your ecto? It’ll have to be a projectile and your ability to visualize it has to be almost instinctual, can’t have you fudging up because of a cloudy mind-“

And one would think that Jason’s mind would go to his guns. His primaries that he kept with him wherever he went.

But guns were complex things. How well maintenance, what types of mods, and the ammo; there was a lot of small things that went into a gun.

Further more how would he hold his hands to shoot?

No, his mind didn’t go to his guns.

————————

There was something new up red hood’s sleeve.

Something different.

It was green and didn’t come out often, but it was never a good day when they did.

When a gang had Hood pinned with limited ammo they thought they had finally did the impossible and toppled the crime alley boss.

Only to watch one of their associates get cratered into the nearby wall with a groan from the impact of a glowing blur.

Ted gaped at the fallen member and was only able to let out a confused,

“Was that a green batarang?!?”

Before all hell broke loose.

#dp x dc #writing prompt #danny fenton #dc x dp #jason todd #halfa jason #just had this thought on the bus #ectorangs!#fanfiction prompts #fanfic #i chose jason because he was there and i went that will do #any batfam will do tho #dead birds fly au

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doumadono · 2 days

Note

✨ SINFUL SUNDAY BITCHES ✨

Can we get some villain Bakugo corrupting pro hero reader?

Warnings: smut w/o plot, non-con elements, rough smut, pussy fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, fem prohero!reader, villain!Bakugo, semi-public, a bit of humiliation and degradation?, Bakugo being sardonic, a little of power play, forced orgasm

A/N: this request got the second highest number of votes during another Sinful Sunday poll I held. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA

The night was cloaked in darkness, the moon a mere sliver in the sky, casting a faint glow over the bustling city below. Neon lights flickered, casting eerie glows on the wet pavement. The quiet murmur of the city was interrupted by distant sirens, a reminder of the ever-present danger lurking in the shadows.

You were a pro hero, dedicated and unwavering in your resolve to protect the citizens of Musutafu. You stood atop a high-rise building, your heart pounding in your chest as you scanned the streets for any sign of the notorious villain who had been wreaking havoc recently. Katsuki Bakugo, once a promising hero-in-training, had taken a dark turn, abandoning his dreams of heroism to embrace a path of destruction and chaos.

Your mission tonight was clear: apprehend Bakugo and bring him to justice. But as you stood there, the cold wind biting at your skin through your costume, you couldn't shake the unease that settled in your stomach. Bakugo was known for his explosive temper and unparalleled strength, and you had a feeling this encounter would be anything but easy.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion echoed through the night, shaking the building beneath your feet. You spun around, your eyes wide as you spotted the source of the blast: a plume of smoke rising from a nearby warehouse. Without hesitation, you leapt from the rooftop, and made your way towards the chaos.

As you approached the warehouse, you could see the flicker of flames licking at the sky, the acrid scent of burning metal and debris filling your nostrils. You landed gracefully, your boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. The warehouse was in ruins, chunks of concrete and twisted metal scattered around the area. And in the midst of the destruction, standing amidst the flames like a demon from the depths of hell, was no one else but Katsuki Bakugo.

He turned to face you, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he recognized you. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look who decided to show up. A little late to the party, aren't we?"

You clenched your fists, your eyes narrowing as you met his gaze. "Bakugo," you spat, taking a defensive stance. "I won't let you continue this reign of terror. This ends tonight. I'm taking you in."

Bakugo laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. "You really think you can take me down, princess? You're welcome to try, but I promise you, it's not going to end the way you think."

With a sudden burst of speed, Bakugo closed the distance between you, his hand shooting out to grab your wrist.

You reacted on instinct, twisting away and aiming a punch at his midsection, but he was faster. His grip tightened, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent you crashing to the ground, his body pinning yours.

"You're so predictable," he sneered, his breath hot against your ear. "Always playing by the rules, always so righteous. But you know what, sweetheart? That shit doesn't matter anymore. In this world, power is the only thing that counts."

You struggled beneath him, your heart racing as you tried to free yourself from his grasp. “Let. Me. Go.”

But Bakugo's strength was overwhelming, his body a solid wall of muscle and raw power. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke, his voice a low, seductive whisper. "Tell me, little heroine," he murmured, his free hand trailing down your side, "Have you ever wondered what it's like to let go? To stop fighting and just give in?"

You gasped, your body reacting to his touch despite your determination to resist. "Stop," you pleaded, your voice trembling. "This isn't you. You're not a monster. Your mind is just clouded."

He chuckled darkly, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of your costume, teasing the sensitive skin of your tummy. "Oh, but it is me," he said, his eyes burning with a twisted kind of desire. "And deep down, I think you like it. I think you want it."

With a swift motion, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his dominance overwhelming.

You fought against the pull, but the intensity of his touch, the raw passion he exuded, was intoxicating.

His hands roamed your body, setting your nerves alight with every touch. "Feel that?" he murmured against your lips. "That's the real you, begging to be unleashed."

Your resolve wavered, the lines between right and wrong blurring in the heat of the moment. "Bakugo, stop," you pleaded, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Stop?" he taunted, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. "You don't want me to stop, princess. You want to see just how far this can go."

You knew you should resist, should fight with everything you had, but you simply couldn’t.

Bakugo's lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he continued to speak, his voice a low, hypnotic growl. "Give in, heroine," he urged, his hand moving lower, tracing the curve of your hip. "Let me show you what real power feels like."

You bit your lip, an unwanted moan escaping your lips as his hand found its way between your legs, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against the fabric of your costume on your crotch.

The sensation was overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and resistance that made your head spin. "Bakugo," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Don’t touch me."

He smiled against your skin, his fingers gently slapping your crotch. "Stop it," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck to your collarbone. "Don’t be such a prude. We both know you like being used. You whores all do.”

And in that moment, as your body responded to his touch, you realized that you were powerless to resist him. Katsuki Bakugo, the villain you had sworn to stop, was slowly and resolutely tearing down all of your defenses, pulling you into his dark, dangerous world.

"You think you can resist me?" he taunted, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I know you feel it too. That darkness inside you, begging to be set free."

"Bakugo, this isn't right," you protested, shaking your head abruptly.

His smirk widened, a feral glint in his eyes. "Right or wrong doesn't matter now. All that matters is what you want. And I know you want this."

Before you could respond, his lips crashed against yours again, the kiss possessive.

You tried to fight it once again, but failed. "Bakugo," you gasped when he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Say my name again," he demanded, his voice rough with need. "I want to hear you beg for it."

The command in his tone sent a jolt of primal desire through you, your body betraying your resolve. "Katsuki," you whispered, the name a plea on your lips.

He growled in approval, his hands sliding under your uniform again, fingers tracing the curves of your body. "That's it. Don’t be shy, princess."

In one swift motion, he tore at your clothes, the fabric yielding to his strength.

The cool night air kissed your exposed skin, but the heat radiating from Bakugo's body kept you warm.

His touch was relentless, every caress igniting a fire that burned through you. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So eager, so willing. I knew you had it in you. Haha, you just can’t wait to have a villain cock in your cunt."

You gasped as his hands found their way to your panties, his touch both demanding and expertly skilled.

He captured your lips again, the kiss deep and consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Bakugo, please," you whimpered after breaking the kiss, the need in your voice undeniable.

He chuckled darkly, his eyes flashing with triumph. "That's what I wanted to hear." With a swift, practiced motion, he lifted you like you weighed nothing, like you were nothing but a rag doll, pressing you against the rough brick wall of the warehouse.

The sensation of the cool brick against your exposed skin made you whimper. Your breath hitched, your resolve wavering under his piercing stare. "Bakugo, this isn't —"

"Oh, shut the fuck up finally," he interrupted, his lips crashing down on yours to silence you. He smirked against your lips, his fingers tracing teasing circles over the middle of your panties. "You're already so fucking wet for me," he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I knew you wanted this, little one."

He quickly tugged your panties down your legs, and without thinking much, you helped him take them off completely. A gasp escaped your lips as he pushed a finger inside you, the intrusion both shocking and exhilarating. He finger fucked you while licking the pulse point on your neck with the tip of his tongue, wet trail of his saliva painting your throat. He soon added another digit.

"Bakugo," you moaned, the sound of his name a plea on your lips.

"That's right," he growled, his fingers moving faster, deeper, each thrust stroking all the right places deep within you. "Let me hear you beg for it."

"Bakugo, please," you whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate for more. Even though it all felt wrong and he was only humiliating you.

His smirk widened, a feral gleam in his eyes. "Good little heroine," he murmured, adding another finger, the sensation overwhelming. "Feel that? That's me owning you." His fingers moved with relentless precision, hitting all of the sweet, spongy spots. His calloused thumb brushed over your clit at the same time.

Bakugo cupped your face with his other hand in a mockery of intimacy, his rough digits surprisingly gentle against your skin. His eyelids fluttered closed as he leaned in, the warmth of his breath hitting your cheek as he sniffed you. "Fuck," he murmured, almost to himself, "I could get used to this."

You smelled so good, sweet and soft and clean — a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded him daily. It had been so long since he had been this close to a woman, and never one who was willing. The scent of you, the feel of your skin against his, it was intoxicating, a drug he hadn't realized he craved.

Bakugo kissed you again while fingering your tight pussy, the sloppy, wet noises so lewd that, involuntarily, you became wetter than before.

You hated how your body reacted.

His tongue swept over the inside of your mouth, invasive and brutal. He gripped you forcefully, his face pushing you deeper into the strained hold.

You had never been kissed like this before.

Bakugo finally pulled his fingers out of you and dropped to his knees, hitching one of your legs up over his shoulder. The velvety skin of your inner thigh looked so delicious that he nuzzled against the bare area and latched onto it, sucking until he was sure you'd have a mark in a few minutes. The rich, feminine scent of your pussy was inches away from him, intoxicating and irresistible. Bakugo's eyes darkened with desire as he inhaled deeply, dying to make you cum in his needy mouth. Without hesitation, he leaned in, his hot breath ghosting over your slick folds before his tongue darted out, tasting you for the first time. The sensation was electric, his mouth working expertly, eager to draw out every moan, every shiver of pleasure from you. He latched onto your clit, sucking and flicking with a fervor that made your knees weak, his grip on your leg tightening to keep you steady. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice sending jolts of pleasure through your body. He was relentless, devouring you with a hunger that left you breathless.

“B-Bakugo…”

A sound you’d never heard yourself make before forced its way out of your mouth as Bakugo ate you out in earnest, his tongue rubbing against your clit in a stuttering rhythm that gave you no time to catch your breath. You wanted him to stop. And at the same time, you never wanted him to stop. Your hands twitched as you fought the impulse to fist them in the villain’s hair and pin him down between your trembling thighs. His tongue felt so, so good against your pussy. You had never been with a man who was that skilled in pleasuring a woman.

Bakugo curled one arm around your thigh, pulling his face away from your cunny just long enough to push his fingers back into your drenched hole, angling his palm to grind the heel of his hand roughly over your clit. The harsh, rough texture after the warm, wet softness of his tongue was enough to push you over the edge. You cried out your orgasm, your pussy clenching onto Bakugo's fingers as he worked them in and out of you.

"Fuck, that’s it, you little, pathetic whore, cum for me now or I'll have to blow your fucking useless head out," he growled, his voice vibrating through you as he rubbed the bulge tenting in his pants roughly with his free hand. His eyes were dark with desire, watching you come undone. Bakugo groaned, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh, before attaching his mouth to your pussy again. He drank in all of your juices, his tongue lapping up every drop of your essence as if he couldn’t get enough.

You just came on the tongue of a villain.

Bakugo looked up at you, a smirk playing on his lips, his chin glistening with your release. "You taste even better than I imagined," he said, his voice low and rough.

Your legs felt weak, barely able to support you as the reality of what had just happened sank in. You felt oh so humiliated, but a part of you couldn't ignore the raw, undeniable pleasure that Bakugo had drawn from you.

He got back to his feet, and whispered against your ear. "Admit that you want me to fuck you right here, right now."

"Yes," you breathed, the word a desperate plea.

He didn't need any more encouragement. With a growl, he freed himself from his fitted combat pants, his cock sprung up free, resting proudly against his toned abdomen; the aggressive, red tip leaking precum from its slit. He positioned himself at your slimy entrance, the anticipation almost too much to bear. "You're mine," he declared, his voice thick with possessive hunger. “You’re nothing but a tiny hole I’m going to use however I please. You’re fucking nothing but a piece of meat.”

With a powerful thrust, he entered you, the sensation tearing a gasp from your lips. The feeling of him inside you, filling you completely, was intoxicating. He moved with a fierce rhythm, his heavy balls slapping against your pussy with every rough thrust he delivered. He yanked one of your legs up, wrapping it around his hips to find the better angle.

He could hardly think of anything aside from the soft, hot, wet cunt wrapped so tightly around his dick. It consumed his every thought, his every desire. He wanted to live inside your pussy, to fuck your warmth every day, every minute. The feeling of fucking you raw was the best he had felt in months, a primal satisfaction that eclipsed everything else.

"Bakugo," you moaned, your hands clinging to his shoulders for support.

"That's right," he growled, his pace relentless as he hardly squeezed your boob through your sports bra. "Scream my name. Let everyone know who you belong to."

“K-Katsuki!”

The world around you dissolved into a haze of pleasure and desire, the only reality was the feeling of Bakugo claiming you, possessing you completely. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you to meet his thrusts, his breath hot against your skin.

The warehouse was a chaos of fire and smoke, the heat from the flames slowly licking at your skin, but the inferno around you was nothing compared to the blaze between you and Bakugo. The firelight cast an eerie glow over his face, highlighting the intense, almost feral desire in his eyes.

“Such a good whore, taking my cock in her tight little pussy so fucking well,” Bakugo praised, licking a stripe of your neck, growling lowly into your ear.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you, each thrust pushing you harder against the wall. The rough brick scraped your back.

Every nerve ending was on fire, the sensation of him inside you overwhelming.

"That's it," he growled, his pace increasing, the friction of his body against yours driving you wild. “That’s it, whore.”

You gasped at the insult, your leg tightening around his hips, pulling him deeper.

He angled his hips, hitting the sweetest spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes with the tip of his massive cock. "Right there," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "I can feel you clenching around me. That’s a good, little heroic whore.”

You nodded frantically, your breath coming in ragged gasps whenever the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.

"Bakugo!" you screamed, raking your nails along his shoulders even though they were still covered by the upper part of his gear.

He swirled two fingers against your clit after slipping the hand that had cupped your boob earlier down to your slick pussy.

You mewled like a kitten at the unexpected stimulation, and he laughed rudely.

"Fuck, that's it," he groaned, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as possible, his cock pulsing and swelling as he came, filling you with his hot, thick release. “Fuck, take it, take it all, bitch.”

Your climax built rapidly as well. Your body tensed, the coil of pleasure tightening until it finally snapped when he came inside of you. With a cry of his name, you shattered, the pleasure overwhelming, consuming you utterly for the second time this evening. Your body convulsed around him, your pussy clenching and milking his veiny cock as he continued to pound into you. “Bakugo!”

“That’s it, little one, that’s it,” Bakugo cooed, his thrust sloppy until he stopped moving. He held you there for a moment. The slurping sound that reverberated in the air as his cock partially left your drenched pussy was obscene. Equally obscene was the cloudy trail of mixed white and clear fluid that connected your pussy and the head of his cock until he pulled away fully. His rough hands were still gripping your hips as he watched with a wry grin how his cum dribbled out of your abused pussy.

"You're fucking mine," he whispered, his voice a rough promise. "There's no place you could possibly hide from me," he whispered. "I'll find you anywhere, little heroine. You are mine, and no one else, nor any other thing, will ever change that."

When clouds of primal lust faded away, clearing your mind a little, the humiliation hit you like a heavy hammer, threatening to crush you under its weight. You fought the urge to cry, the stress and fear coursing through you like a tidal wave. You couldn't tear up like a baby in front of him, couldn't show any sign of weakness. Even though you already did.

Frantically, you looked around for your panties, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to improve the upper part of your hero costume that was practically torn in half. But before you could find them, his low, mocking laugh reached your ears. You raised your head slowly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, as you saw him toying with them in his hand, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You looking for these?" he taunted, holding them just out of reach. "You should know better by now. Everything that touches you belongs to me too." He sniffed your panties, and then theatrically licked the damp spot in the middle with his tongue, making you shudder involuntarily. His grin widened at your reaction, a cruel satisfaction evident in his eyes. After wiping his cock with your panties, he tucked them into the pocket of his pants, adjusting his trousers shortly after with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. "I'll keep these as a little souvenir," he announced.

Bakugo took a step closer to you, his presence overwhelming as he helped you adjust your own pants. "Now, go," he whispered, his voice low and commanding. "Run to them and tell them that not only did you fail to stop and capture the infamous villain, but also moaned like a cheap whore when his cock was buried to the hilt in your wet pussy. I'm super curious about their reaction."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you nodded numbly, unable to form a proper sentence after you pulled up what was left of your hero pants. You turned around and walked away with a shaky step as you prepared to face the consequences of your failure.

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thedivinershiddenarchive · 1 year

Text

— Incubus in the Forest.

cw. fem!reader, incubus!character, dub-con, praise/degradation kink, implications of somnophilia, overstimulation, implied breeding kink, possesiveness (may not fit all characters listed)

a/n. i love going through the gonewildaudio subreddit for fanfiction ideas because i don't have motivation to make my own and my askbox can't peak my interest that much and guess what. i found some incubi content and now i wanna write a thirst about it.

masterlist | tag system | 17- & MASC-ALIGNED DNI!

All you wanted to do was camp with your friends. They were all joking about demons and horror stories and one of them popped up the concept of incubi, talking about how they go through the dreams of women and have sexual intercourse with them that would soon lead to death if the partner has too many sessions.

All of you brushed it off to the person just being weird or downbad. You were part of them because the idea of a demon going through dreams of unconscious women and fuck them in there sounded ridiculous. Thank god it wasn’t real and just a piece of folklore or mythology.

That was what you thought. You wished you were sleeping in the tents of your female friends because the so-called fictional demon was haunting your dream. Or better to call it, ‘Dreams.’

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a cute girl like you went to this forest. No one ever dared visit here anymore because of those rumored incubi haunting the place. So it’s good that you haven’t heard them.” you frantically looked around, you weren’t in your tent anymore. But in a red Victorian room you aren’t familiar with.

Suddenly, the bed sinks and you look at the source. You faced a man with pointy red horns and a tail that was swooshing around excitedly at the sight of you. His eyes almost lit up as he crawled right in front of you, “I have to say, you look more appetizing up close than watching you from afar.”

He was… watching you? You have to admit he was quite sneaky because the forest wasn’t that big at all nor did it have many trees for people to hide in.

“I might save you since it’s been a while since I’ve gotten someone so… Lovely.” he breathes in your scent, snuggling into your neck and licking it. “Gods, you’re making me crave you more and we haven’t even started yet.”

You gulped, furrowing your brows and gasping as you got pinned to the bed, his fangs biting down your skin as he sucked your blood. He lets out a satisfied groan at your taste, pulling out with his mouth stained with red substance as he seductively licked them. You were trying to push him off while your screams were muffled by his bigger and muscular body.

You tried punching and kicking but he wouldn’t budge. He was much stronger than you are and he only stared at you with a pleasant smirk. He thought this was so entertaining seeing you deny him. Who do you think you were to push away such a handsome guy like him?

“Why don’t we get started? I’m so impatient right now.”

Fuck, you haven’t felt this full in a while. It’s probably because this so called demon was pent-up for a long amount of years that he got hard at the sight of a new victim to fuck.

But since it’ll be a very long time since he’ll get another dupe he was gonna save you and follow you around since you were the first person in a while to visit the forest. The bite on your neck served a purpose and that every time you slept, he’d appear and use you however he wanted.

Though he wanted to be careful since he’ll take your lifeforce away and make you insane. It’s been years since he’s gotten some good pussy to fuck and he didn’t want to harm you in any way. Well, the more the two of you had sessions like this, the more needy you are for the incubus to fuck you.

He was in awe of how much power he had over you. You were much more adorable than all the other women he slept with. He wanted to keep you to himself, even if it meant it would make you a desperate whore for him to play with however he wanted.

He groaned and kept you closer to him, your body flushed with his as he continued ramming you over and over. His tail couldn’t stop moving from how much pleasure he was receiving, he didn’t even know how long he had been fucking you. It must’ve been hours which were just a few minutes in real-time but in this dream? It’s much longer. Which would be quite advantageous if he could be honest.

“Ahah, you’re so good for me. I might wanna keep you for myself.. Might only want you instead. I can’t find anyone whose so fucking slutty like you are.” he moans when you tightened around him more. You were practically choking his cock to death.

He traps you on the headboard, having your legs around his waist so he could have better access to your pussy and have his cock reach deeper inside of you. Ah, it felt so good having him touch places you weren’t able to touch.

The red sheets were stained with your blood and the mix of your and the incubus’ cum. “I can’t get enough of you, sweet girl.” he soughs into your lips, ramming into you like you were the last woman he’s ever gonna fuck.

You couldn’t say anything, hell, you couldn’t do anything from how strong his grip on your body was. It’s almost as if he had control over you instead of you. “Gonna come again, take it like the good slut you are.”

You let out heavy pants as he emptied himself into you again. Your body was shaking against his, your chest heaving uneven breaths as you tried to catch them. He only chuckled and cuddled into you with his arms around your waist, keeping you close to him, making sure his cum doesn’t leak out of you. “Why don’t we go for another round?”

“D-don’t think I can go anymore..” you whimpered as he only grinded his hips in response. “Sure you can! Don’t go sleeping in your dream now, you wouldn’t wanna know what I’d do with your body if you went unconscious on me.”

He was right. If you sleep in your dream, you’ll most likely go through another deeper layer of your unconsciousness and it’ll be difficult to wake you up. You definitely don’t wanna have the knowledge of him using your sleeping body as he wishes, so you try to open your eyes wider and see that same shit-eating grin you despise.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” his little bat wings flapped in excitement as you only threw your head to the side and glared at him. “Don’t be like that, you don’t want me to go rougher on you now.”

“Not like you were gentle in the first place.”

“Hah! I can’t argue with that.” he picks you up, making you straddle his lap as he hovers your hips over his erected cock once again. “Take a deep breath, this is gonna be much longer.”

#notsodivininglover ; king’s pages #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe smut #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia smut #kaeya x reader #kaeya smut #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya alberich smut #kaveh x reader #kaveh smut #capitano x reader #capitano smut

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